


Union

by Euterpein



Series: 12 Days of Blasphemy [4]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Aziraphale's Genitals Are Not Specified (Good Omens), Blasphemy, Bottom Aziraphale (Good Omens), Crowley Has a Penis (Good Omens), M/M, Riding, Top Crowley (Good Omens)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-06
Updated: 2021-01-06
Packaged: 2021-03-16 11:54:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 830
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28581567
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Euterpein/pseuds/Euterpein
Summary: Aziraphale muses on the nature of love and Divinity, and shows Crowley his conclusions...
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Series: 12 Days of Blasphemy [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2094198
Comments: 2
Kudos: 48
Collections: 12 Days of Blasphemy 2020, Top Crowley Library





	Union

**Author's Note:**

> Day 6 of the 12 Days of Blasphemy challenge!
> 
> Full prompt: “I deserve, but to give me, oh! Such a mark of love--union with thyself! Can this be?”

It was a funny thing, love.

It had a way of doing funny things to a person’s mind, to a person’s behavior. It made them think things they might never otherwise have thought. It made them wish for things--thrilling, impossible things--that might never have even occurred to them if it had not been there.

 _Dangerous_ things.

Aziraphale was made of love. His very being had been woven from threads of Her being, her holy love; it thrummed through every fibre of his being. He had been baptised in it, had breathed it. It had created him; it had corrupted him.

No-- _no_. It had been the others that had been corrupted. He knew that now. It had taken him a long time to see it, and had very nearly been too late by the time the reality of the situation had truly dawned on him, but he had come to accept it in the end.

He was made of God’s love, but it was not Her love that burned through him now. 

His hands made their way up the warm, shifting planes of Crowley’s chest, tangling in the fire-red curls there and then up, over his heart. Crowley was breathing fast, his chest rising and falling in quick succession beneath Aziraphale’s hands. His heart beat a staccato rhythm against feeling fingertips.

Aziraphale was struck again by Crowley’s beauty; his sharp angles and yellow eyes, almost glowing in the warm lamplight, the dull copper of his hair. He looked at once the same as the demon Aziraphale had met on the wall all those aeons ago and yet completely different. Humanity had changed him; had aged him in a way the ravages of time never could. Aziraphale took in every wrinkle and so-called imperfection with a rapture that bordered on the heretical.

Crowley threw his head back, making a dull _thunk_ as it hit the headboard behind him. The hands on Aziraphale’s hips tightened, a warning and a plea, as he encouraged Aziraphale to move himself up and down at an even more frenzied pace.

Aziraphale leaned forward and laid a kiss at the corner of that slack mouth, drank in the gasps and cries spilling forth from that font as though it were the life-water that might sustain him. Perhaps, in a way, it was.

“Angel,” Crowley gasped, right against Aziraphale’s lips, “I’m gonna-- _please_ , angel, I--”

Aziraphale interrupted him with another deep kiss. He wound his arms around Crowley’s neck and used the leverage it gave him to lift himself up and lower himself down with even more force than before, a frenzy of heat and movement and of endless, dizzying passion. Crowley sang sweet music into his mouth, honeyed words and bitten-off curses like hymns in the quiet air.

Another warning, more whispered encouragements, and Crowley was spilling into him, digging sacrificial bruises into Aziraphale’s hips as he took his sweet pleasure. Aziraphale watched with yet more rapturous enjoyment. Crowley was a always a thing of beauty, but when he was so overtaken with pleasure that he was lost to all other sense Aziraphale thought he was beyond exquisite. 

He was _divine_. 

When the ecstasy had drained from Crowley’s eyes he smiled up at Aziraphale, almost shy, even after all this time. “Let me,” he said, and laid Aziraphale carefully beside him upon silk sheets. He kissed him with a gentleness that made Aziraphale’s heart ache in his chest, made his love spill out and run over until he thought it might have been felt all the way from Heaven.

 _Let them feel it_ , he thought. He had no desire to hide it, now.

Crowley took him apart with lips and teeth and tongue, with fingers pressed close between his legs. He rubbed and stroked and caressed until Aziraphale was shaking, was undone, still clinging to Crowley’s shoulders like they could bear all the weight of the world upon them. There, then, at least they could bear the weight of his own.

Afterwards they lay together, bodies curled into one another, warm skin and warm breaths mingling between them. They talked, a little, about small things, about the weather and the garden and the antics of the neighbor’s cunning housecat. Any other angel might have called them trivialities; to Aziraphale, they were everything. 

They were everything because they were _his_. Or, more accurately, _theirs_ ; they were the trappings of the life he had built together with Crowley. The two of them had entered into this new Arrangement with eyes wide open and hearts guarded but full. It was a small, simple life, but it was the whole and the end of his world.

Because Aziraphale might have been built of God’s love, but this? 

This was built of the love of an angel, and of a demon. 

Aziraphale stroked soft fingers through Crowley’s curls where his love’s head was pillowed on his chest. He looked down at his world, and he saw that it was Good.


End file.
